Rainflowers
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Hilda's seventeenth birthday is less happy than she'd like, given that it's been six months since she defeated Team Plasma and she's tired of being lauded as a hero. But what's really bothering her on this particular day is a bouquet of sunflowers. As it turns out, a little, anonymous push from truth works wonders for her forgotten ideals… I do not own Pokémon or the cover art.


She stares down at the bouquet of sunflowers, scattered in the rain, and wonders what she should do with herself.

It's been six long months. Half a year of waiting to encounter him again, half a year of wondering whether he's all right—whether Reshiram is still protecting him. Half a year of silence, the truth growing more and more hazy as the second tick by, her ideals rusting gradually away.

She asked Zekrom to leave her when she first realized that she was not the hero anymore. From what she can tell, she never truly was. It was always _him_, the boy with a single letter for a name—the one with an open heart full of ruthless compassion.

But Zekrom refused to fly away, though she could sense his sorrow.

She sighs heavily at the memory, glancing at the Master Ball resting on her table. No matter what they say about what she did to defend Unova, she is certainly not a hero. The hero is the one in search of himself, traveling the world with truth at his side—while _she_ sits immobile at home, trying desperately to recall whatever ideals she once possessed.

It's _not_ because of him.

It's because everyone wants her to become Champion, to maintain her greatness by immortalizing herself with a befitting title, and they don't believe her when she tells them she doesn't want power—so she withdraws, knowing that saying it again won't make them stop.

She wants to fade back into oblivion where she belongs. She wants to live the life of a normal seventeen-year-old girl, to smile and laugh with her friends, to forget her grand accomplishments and become who _she _wants to be.

She just isn't sure what that is anymore.

A rustling at her feet draws her out of her restless thoughts; she glances down to find her Serperior gazing up at her, a spark of unmistakable worry in those ruby eyes. She merely glances down dully before returning her stare thoughtfully to a few disembodied yellow petals floating in the growing puddles.

If she's right, if they _are_ a birthday gift—then why didn't he stay?

There was no note, no hint at all that they had been delivered by anyone other than the florist. But she can feel it—something isn't quite as it should be. It was that feeling, something like anger and sadness and terrible, bitter _yearning_, that made her rip every single flower from its fellows. She threw them as hard as she could to the ground, one by one, until the whole bouquet was lying separated in the rain, like wounded soldiers.

She buries her face in her hands at the memory of satisfaction as she watched the sunflowers plummet down, guilt choking her suddenly. She's been trying so hard to forget the way she so utterly destroyed his life, everything he ever knew, his very identity. How could he find it in him to _thank_ her, to give her a bundle of her favorite flowers on her birthday?

It doesn't make sense. She doesn't deserve it. Any of it.

_ …But…_

A wave of something like excitement rises slowly and then crashes over her; a little of her heroic spirit stirs in her heart as though waking from slumber. She inhales sharply the scent of rain and evening, a summer storm. She thinks she can taste a little smoke, the remnants of Reshiram's trail, and smiles slightly, hesitantly.

Maybe it does make sense after all.

It's not just a birthday present. It's a reminder, a taste of what she can have if she only follows his lead, a sign that she will not find him again if she doesn't look—a new ideal to pursue, in the form of the true hero.

She gets to her feet, closing the window gently to the rain, and takes a deep and shaky breath. Leaving home, the only place she's ever truly known, in favor of traveling the world with Zekrom? In favor of searching for someone whom she barely knows—whom she may as well have killed six months ago?

_Yes. _She smiles into the dusk, more confidently this time, and turns away from the window. It doesn't matter how long it takes. She will chase him around the world for all eternity if it means she has the chance to find herself in the process, or abdicate the title of hero with which he saddled her, or even just apologize.

An escape. The promise of peace. Closure.

Happy birthday to her.

* * *

_I got the disembodied image of sunflowers in the rain yesterday, but only started writing this morning. Even once I started typing, I wasn't sure who was going to be in the story or even which fandom I was going to be writing for…_


End file.
